


Flannel and French Lace

by musegnome



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Lingerie, Love Confessions, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Strap-Ons, University, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musegnome/pseuds/musegnome
Summary: She had a vision of how things would go when Crowley got home. The door would open. Crowley would drag in her suitcase and pull off her shoes at the door. She’d come up the stairs, and Aziraphale would rise to greet her, and Crowley would be so delighted to see the blue dress. She liked it best out of all Aziraphale’s dresses, since all she had to do was untie a belt and unclasp a button and it would fall open. “Like unwrapping the best present,” she’d told Aziraphale, laughing, and this time wouldn’t she be surprised to see what was inside?Seekwill'sbrighter than the brightest stars,from Aziraphale's POV.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 132





	Flannel and French Lace

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [brighter than the brightest stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470804) by [seekwill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/pseuds/seekwill). 



> This fic was inspired by, and draws heavily from, seekwill's original piece _brighter than the brightest stars_ \- please go read that work if you haven't already! It's beyond gorgeous. Many thanks to seekwill for her lovely writing, and for her generosity in letting me play in the story.

The pot of water simmered gently on the stove, ready to be brought to a boil.

Aziraphale anxiously surveyed the fruits of her evening’s labor. The bread was cooled on the rack. The white wine was chilled, and the salad too, next to the tray of fresh ravioli in the refrigerator. A pan of cooked crumbled sausage sat lidded and warm on a back burner, and a stick of butter was unwrapped in its little dish, waiting to be browned with fresh sage. 

All that was missing was Crowley. She’d said she would call when she was close to home.

The telephone rang as if on cue, and Aziraphale quickly wiped her hands on a tea towel before picking up. “Crowley!” she said eagerly.

Before her wife had said a word, Aziraphale could hear the sound of London in the background: millions of cars and footsteps and voices blended to a constant dull roar. She missed it sometimes. But right now, the only voice she wanted to hear was Crowley’s.

“Hiya, angel. About dinner…”

“You’re only just leaving now, aren’t you?” She tried to stifle her disappointment, but Crowley could always tell.

“I’m so sorry, love. They wouldn’t let us go.” Angry honking came through the other end of the line, and she could almost hear Crowley’s teeth grinding. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the clock. After eight already; Crowley wouldn’t be home for at least another two hours. “You better. I’ll put a plate in the fridge for you, for when you’re home?”

“You better,” Crowley echoed teasingly. “What did you miracle up today?”

“Pumpkin ravioli with sausage,” she answered.

“Homemade pasta, I bet.”

She hummed in agreement, pinning the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she pulled cling wrap out of its drawer and cut it to wrap the bread. 

“You’re killing me, angel. My mouth is watering.”

“Well, there’s plenty for when you get home.” Aziraphale had made sure to make extra – enough for dinner and leftovers, easily. The company ran poor Crowley ragged every year at these meetings, and she never remembered to eat. She always came home from her Hell Week at least a kilo lighter.

“Wait up for me?” Crowley asked hopefully. That had absolutely been Aziraphale’s original intention. But now Crowley wouldn’t be home until at least ten, and even with an extra cup or two of tea she couldn’t always make it that long.

“I’ll give it my very best,” she promised. The London traffic was louder now. She hated talking very long when Crowley was on the road. “Drive safe, please, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, alright. Love you, angel.”

“I love you, Crowley. See you shortly.”

When Crowley had hung up, Aziraphale reluctantly pulled the ravioli out of the fridge and turned up the heat on the water, dropping them carefully into the pot when the water had reached a boil. 

Even before Crowley had asked, Aziraphale had known she wouldn’t go with her to London. Crowley asked every year. She’d tempted Aziraphale with promises of decadent dinners and spa treatments; tempted her too with warm kisses and clever hands, but Aziraphale had held fast. 

No point in massages and face masks without Crowley to run fingers over her newly soft skin. No point in champagne sipped alone, in bubble baths by herself in a giant tub meant for two – not when she knew Crowley was rushing from meeting to meeting, shaking hands and giving presentations and keeping a tight rein on her anxiety until she could stagger exhausted back to the room and collapse into immediate sleep. 

There had been more than a little guilt over the thought of Crowley struggling through those days without anyone to take care of her, but Aziraphale had decided her time would be better spent getting as much work done as possible. She’d managed to finish three book restorations during Crowley’s absence. That meant she could spend the next several days tending to her wife, feeding her up and winding her down after her long week in the city. Cuddles on the sofa. Walks on the beach. Homemade suppers at their little kitchen table that would nourish them far more than any luxurious meal at the Ritz.

Nights together in their big bed.

Aziraphale ate her dinner alone, slowly, savoring the flavors of pumpkin and sage. When she was done she cleaned up the kitchen and spooned a generous portion of the pasta into a glass container. She went into Crowley’s office and pulled a pink page from the pad of post-it notes on the desk, snagging a pen from the cup, and thought about what to write.

Several crumpled post-its later Aziraphale was no closer to deciding on a message. She’d crossed out lines that ranged from romantic to innuendo to explicit, but none of them felt right and most of them would probably give Crowley too much of a hint about her surprise. In the end she chose something simple, writing it out in neat script. She headed back to the kitchen and pressed the note to the top of the glass box.

_Welcome home, my love. See you soon._

*~*~*

It had been pure chance that they’d met. It was the only time Aziraphale could remember that Sandalphon had hosted bible study. His intense stares made her uneasy, and she’d only gone because Michael and Uriel would be there too. But their buses followed a different route, and so Aziraphale had walked alone through the deepening evening.

In the unfamiliar neighborhood, umbrella shielding her from a cold November drizzle, she’d come upon a woman huddled in a shop doorway. The woman was in thin, tattered clothes and beat-up shoes with no socks. There was nothing to protect her from the cold. 

Aziraphale thought about the thick socks and warm blankets waiting for her at home. Before she realized what she was doing she had slipped under the awning, dropped her umbrella, and stripped off her coat. 

“Here,” she offered, holding it out, but the woman only watched her warily. 

Aziraphale slowly stepped forward and draped the coat over the woman’s knees. She moved away and watched as the woman pulled it close around her body with a mutter of thanks. Aziraphale wrung her hands, trying to think of any way to be of more help. She hesitantly suggested going back to Sandalphon’s to look up a shelter or call somebody, but the woman refused to respond and in the end Aziraphale left her in the doorway, afraid to miss the bus.

Now she stood shivering underneath a streetlight at the bus stop. She folded her arms close and chafed at them through her light sweater, struggling to hold her umbrella at the same time.

A pub door banged open and in the brief spill of light she saw a group of people stumble out. The door closed and there was only loud slurred yelling and unsteady footsteps on the pavement. The rowdy voices came closer. Someone stopped just outside her circle of light. Uncertain and nervous, she waited to see what would happen. 

“Oi!” came a call from just down the walk. “What’s the problem? You coming or not?”

There was no response to the query. Instead, into the light stepped a whip-thin girl with a shock of red hair, slipping like a demon from the darkness. She wore sunglasses, even at this time of night. She had sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin, scarlet lipstick on thin curved lips, and the tightest jeans Aziraphale had ever seen. 

She was beautiful.

“Lose your coat?” she shouted. Aziraphale could barely hear her over the hiss of traffic through the rain, and moved toward the girl to avoid getting splashed.

“Er.” Aziraphale looked up into the dark lenses and away again, mumbling, “Igaveitaway.”

“What?” The beautiful girl leaned in even closer.

“I gave it away!” she cried. “There was a woman and she just looked so cold in the rain, and she didn’t seem to have anywhere to go.”

The girl’s jaw dropped, and for a moment she stood with her lovely red lips hanging open. Finally she gathered herself and murmured, “Wow.”

Aziraphale didn’t think it was anything to be wowed about. “My parents are going to have me hanged,” she said worriedly. “It was a Christmas gift, that coat. But in this weather…”

The weather. The gorgeous stranger was getting soaked in the rain, and Aziraphale loosened her arms enough to tilt the umbrella as far over both of them as she could get.

The girl said, “I can’t see how they’d be mad at you, to do a nice thing like that.” 

“You think?” Aziraphale asked, biting her lip.

“Yeah, I’d say. Pretty crummy parents otherwise.” 

She was still standing close, with her crimson hair and crimson mouth, and Aziraphale could smell her perfume. Cologne, actually, a spicy musk, and smoke from the pub. She breathed in deep. 

She couldn’t look away.

There was a loud squeal of brakes and the spell was broken. “Oh! That’s my bus!” Aziraphale exclaimed and jumped to the curb. The bus pulled over and its doors squeaked open. 

She didn’t want to leave without saying something more. All she could think of in the moment was, “It was nice to meet you, uh – um –“

“Toni.” The girl grinned crookedly.

“Toni.” Aziraphale tasted the name on her tongue, watching a raindrop run down Toni’s cheek. On impulse she tossed her umbrella, and Toni caught it awkwardly as the bus doors closed. 

Aziraphale hurried to take a seat as the bus lurched forward. She thought there was more shouting from the raucous revelers as it pulled away, but through the misted window she saw Toni still standing, staring, umbrella dangling forgotten from her hand.

*~*~*

The day after Crowley left for London, Aziraphale had been grateful to take a break from her workbench in the flatly silent house and walk down to the village. She bypassed their usual haunts: the empty square where the farmers’ market was held on Saturdays, the brunch café that made Aziraphale’s favourite blueberry crepes, the flower shop where Crowley would sometimes buy a single stem of whatever looked prettiest and have them cut it short to tuck behind Aziraphale’s ear.

Instead she went into the little shop with the curtains on the windows where she’d gone before to buy things for Crowley. This time she had a different goal in mind.

She emerged disappointed a short while later. The salesgirl had been so friendly, and so dismayed that they didn’t have what Aziraphale wanted. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave empty-handed, and a new pair of sleek satin panties for Crowley, wrapped discreetly in tissue paper inside a little bag, wasn’t exactly a purchase to regret. 

But they weren’t what Aziraphale had been looking for. She continued down the street to the library, feeling not a little self-conscious on a number of fronts.

The librarian had become a friend over the years they’d lived in the village, and Aziraphale had often seen her helping other patrons with websites and internet searches. She greeted Aziraphale with a warm smile. Aziraphale explained what she wanted, blushing furiously and glancing around, painfully mindful of privacy despite being the only person in the library on a Monday morning. 

The librarian grinned knowingly and plucked a scrap of paper from her desk to write down a web address without even looking it up. “I’ve bought things from this site before. You’ll like their selection, I think. You’re comfortable finding the site and making a purchase?” When Aziraphale nodded, she handed her the paper. “Good. Better to buy it from your home computer, anyway. Safer to use the credit card. And you can look at what they have without worrying someone’s going to peek over your shoulder.” She sent Aziraphale home with a wink, and with two books from the new fiction section.

At home Aziraphale started up the computer in Crowley’s office. Crowley had helped her set up her email account and shown her how to buy books and kitchen gadgets online, but this was the first time she’d tried doing it on her own. She carefully typed in the address the librarian had given her, and was gratified – and a little intimidated – to see rows and rows of lingerie in a rainbow of colors spill down the screen.

She didn’t realize how long she’d spent combing the site until her stomach rumbled and she saw it was well after lunchtime. She’d finally found a set she wanted in her size, and the only thing left to do was pick a color. She looked at the options on the list. Ivory, petal pink, powder blue.

Black.

Black was not a color she usually wore; her closet was full of pastels and muted jewel tones. But none of this was anything she usually wore, was it? And black was Crowley’s favourite.

She made the selection. Added it to her cart. Pulled out her credit card and clicked the purchase button.

*~*~*

For the next few weeks after the meeting at the bus stop, Aziraphale had daydreamed about Toni. She wondered about the sunglasses and the color of the eyes behind them. She replayed their too-brief conversation dozens if not hundreds of times in her head. She couldn’t understand what it was about the girl that drew her so – it was the first time anyone had ever, ever caught her imagination in such a way.

She’d just returned a tall stack of books to the library and was walking down the library stairs, staring out at the other students hurrying across the commons, envisioning what might happen if she saw the redheaded girl among them, when like magic Toni suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps. “Hi!” she called.

Stunned, Aziraphale couldn’t rein in a huge smile of incredulous delight. “Oh! Toni, isn’t it?” she asked, trying belatedly for nonchalance, with limited success.

Toni grinned in return even as she looked a little shamefaced. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of?” Aziraphale raised a brow as her mind raced – could she have misremembered?

“Yeah, was trying it out. Friends call me Crowley.” Before Aziraphale could ask or comment, Toni – Crowley – rushed on. “See you’ve gotten a new coat.”

Aziraphale looked down in embarrassment. Of course someone as fashionable as Crowley would have noticed the ill-fitting coat right away. The lapels were slightly rucked with the coat’s tightness, and she smoothed them as flat as possible as she agreed, “Ah, yes. Courtesy of the charity shop for the humane society. Doesn’t quite fit, but it’ll have to do.”

She looked back up to see Crowley herself gazing downward. The other girl jerked her eyes back to Aziraphale’s and said quickly, “Humane society, eh? Coat’s probably made from dogs. Cruella de Ville style.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded, elated by the teasing. “This coat is from Marks & Spencer, I’ll have you know. The tag says.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” said Crowley wickedly, and Aziraphale laughed. She couldn’t believe Crowley was here, right in front of her. She was brimming over with the unexpected joy of it.

“So, you a student here then?” asked Crowley.

“Yes, graduate student. Medieval studies and – oh, where are my manners?” she said anxiously, suddenly struck with the realization that she’d gotten Crowley’s name but hadn’t offered her own in return. “I’m Aziraphale. So pleased to have met you.” 

She held out her hand for a proper handshake. When Crowley took it her long fingers were cool in Aziraphale’s palm. 

“I’m going to get a tea or cocoa or something,” Crowley said. “Wanna come? Also, I need to give you back your umbrella.”

The umbrella was the last thing on Aziraphale’s mind, and she struggled to find words, which was something she’d never had to do. “Oh. Well. Alright. Doesn’t that sound nice on a cold day like this.” 

Aziraphale knew she’d have to get up extra early tomorrow to get her reading assignment done before class, but she thought it might be worth it.

*~*~*

She’d paid extra so the package would arrive before Crowley returned, and fretted until the box appeared in Thursday’s post. She washed her hands clean with plain soap and water and dried them with care, just like she did when handling her most fragile books, before unwrapping the lingerie and breathlessly running her fingers over the elegant lace.

It would have felt strange to be wearing the lingerie no matter what. It felt even more strange to be wearing it underneath her blue crepe wrap dress, curled in a bedroom armchair with a book at ten o’clock at night. On almost any other evening, if she made it to ten o’clock she’d be in her soft flannel pyjamas, snuggled into Crowley on the sofa with empty wine glasses on the table as she drowsed through sitcom reruns. 

She had a vision of how things would go when Crowley got home. The door would open. Crowley would drag in her suitcase and pull off her shoes at the door. She’d come up the stairs, and Aziraphale would rise to greet her, and Crowley would be so delighted to see the blue dress. She liked it best out of all Aziraphale’s dresses, since all she had to do was untie a belt and unclasp a button and it would fall open. “Like unwrapping the best present,” she’d told Aziraphale, laughing, and this time wouldn’t she be surprised to see what was inside.

Aziraphale glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past ten now. She heaved a sigh. Then heaved another one, experimentally, feeling the gentle abrasion of the lace on her breasts.

She hoped Crowley would be home soon.

*~*~*

As the winter unfolded into spring and early summer, Aziraphale was astounded at how often she encountered Crowley. They were in different academic departments, had different groups of friends, and yet they ran into each other in all sorts of places. The library. The laundromat. The cafeteria. The coffee shop. And every time she saw the red hair and sunglasses, her breath caught in her throat.

Finally, after what must have been a dozen accidental meetings, they laughed and agreed to start meeting on purpose. 

Aziraphale had never had a friend like Crowley. With Crowley she could talk about anything, from the scrumptious apple pie at the greasy campus diner to the books she’d been reading for her Arthurian Romance course. And Crowley listened, and asked her to explain more. She bantered along with Aziraphale’s increasingly confident jokes. Crowley didn’t make her feel ridiculous about her enthusiasm. She didn’t frown and move away from Aziraphale’s accidental touches when she got carried away chattering about her latest obsession.

Aziraphale’s friends – the other graduate students in her cohort, actually, which didn’t precisely make them friends but rather made them the people she constantly shared classes with – were a reserved bunch who saved their energy for church services and bible study. They managed to disapprove of her outside interests and acquaintances without being overtly rude, but they’d always given her a sense of ostracization. 

She didn’t quite fit in with Crowley’s friends either. They were amiable enough but far wilder than she was used to, roughhousing and throwing boisterous parties at which Crowley herself never seemed entirely comfortable.

Aziraphale had, exactly once, made the mistake of bringing her own group of friends along to one of the get-togethers. Uriel stood in the kitchen arguing with Beelzebub about the evils of alcohol for over an hour. Sandalphon stumbled across Hastur and Ligur snogging in the hallway, and Aziraphale and Michael had had to forcibly remove him before he could cause a scene. 

Michael was the only one who seemed amenable to the goings-on. She’d mingled easily with the other partygoers, delighting them with her sharp, catty wit while Aziraphale stood in a corner with Crowley sipping wine coolers and waiting for things to quiet down. After that evening, Michael was the only one who sometimes joined Aziraphale when Crowley extended invitations to another of the almost-weekly parties. 

It was Michael, in fact, who pushed Aziraphale to cut through the tangle of her feelings for Crowley.

Crowley was undoubtedly the best friend Aziraphale had ever had, and she wasn’t shy about letting Crowley know it. But she was constantly confounded by the yearning Crowley made her feel. Crowley’s crooked grin alone could set her heart leaping. She could bicker gently with Crowley for hours at a time and never get tired of the sound of her voice.

But most confusing of all was the heat that sometimes surged low in her belly when Crowley was near. Crowley in jeans so tight she could only fit the tips of her fingers in the pockets; Crowley coming toward her down the sidewalk with a catwalk sway to her lean hips; Crowley with magenta lipstick and smudged smoky eyeliner the first time she’d shown Aziraphale her lovely amber-gold eyes. 

Aziraphale had never thought much about her own sexuality. She’d never questioned the standards set by her crowd: she’d always assumed she would finish her degree, find a job, meet a nice man and settle down in a suburb with an easy commute and a good daycare for their two to three children. 

Crowley changed everything. 

Sometimes she touched Crowley, a hand on her arm or knee, and thought she heard Crowley’s breath hitch. And sometimes Aziraphale watched her when Crowley wasn’t looking, trying to put her finger on what it was about the other woman that made her ache. She wanted to ask her if she felt it too, this strange longing. She wanted Crowley to ask. She wanted to be brave enough to answer. 

But the only question Crowley ever asked when she caught Aziraphale out was “What’re you looking at?” 

And the only response Aziraphale could bring herself to make was a denial: “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

It was toward the end of the semester, and Aziraphale and Michael were standing outside the Literature and Languages building during a break in their seminar on illuminated manuscripts. Michael was smoking a cigarette, a habit she’d picked up from Dagon. Aziraphale was trying to figure out which way was upwind. 

“Crowley says Beelzebub’s having a big bash to celebrate the end of the semester. Bigger than usual. Did you want to come along with me?”

“Sounds good,” said Michael, exhaling a plume of smoke. She eyed Aziraphale. “Crowley’s graduating, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t know what Crowley would be doing afterwards, or where she would be going. Who she might be seeing when she’d moved on.

Michael studied her for a long moment. “Aziraphale. Are you really going to let her walk away?”

Aziraphale was shocked into silence. Michael had been the most tight-laced of them all. Never in a thousand years would she have thought Michael would approve of her complicated cravings for Crowley. But then again, she’d never thought Michael would be smoking cigarettes at drunken house parties either.

Finally, she asked, “Do you think she would stay?”

“The way you two look at each other, it’s pretty clear you’ve got the chance to have something together. Something it’s frankly a miracle to find.” Michael took another drag, flicked ash. “But no, I don’t think she’s going to stay. Not if you don’t give her a reason to.” 

She looked at her watch and stubbed out her cigarette, carefully throwing the butt in the appropriate receptacle. “Come on. Doctor McDormand’s going to lock us out of the lecture if we’re not back on time.” 

They made it back to the classroom, but Aziraphale’s thoughts were churning and her notes from the afternoon session were worthless. She had to ask Michael to borrow hers. She hoped Michael would open up more about what she’d seen from Crowley, what she thought Aziraphale should do, but Michael just handed her the pages and shut the door.

Beelzebub’s party was indeed the biggest bash they’d thrown yet, and Michael abandoned Aziraphale almost immediately after they walked through the door. Which was fine by Aziraphale. Crowley hated the really big, loud, wild affairs full of strangers; Aziraphale didn’t like them either, but she didn’t teeter on the edge of panic like Crowley did and she wanted to find and comfort her… friend.

But Crowley wanted to go out on the roof, and Aziraphale balked. She was afraid the landlord wouldn’t allow it, and afraid of getting their clothes torn or dirty, and afraid most of all of either of them falling. 

Crowley eventually convinced her to give it a try. They crawled out a window – and wasn’t that a sight, Crowley’s lithe form in leather trousers slithering out over the window ledge – and sat on the roof looking out at the full moon and scattered stars. Aziraphale could hardly see her in the shadows once they were settled, Crowley’s black on black on the asphalt shingles. But she could feel Crowley’s warmth pressed gently against her side. 

Aziraphale imagined a lot of things about Crowley, but sitting together in this moment she absolutely couldn’t imagine her being gone. She cast about for something to say. 

Without any warning, from beside her in the darkness Crowley said clearly, “I’m in love with you.”

For a few seconds Aziraphale couldn’t respond. Her eyes welled up with tears at the shock of hearing it out loud. Her heart surged with astonished love and with pride for her brave girl, and she desperately wished she’d spoken up herself.

“We should go back in. It’s cold,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale heard the despair in her voice. Crowley’s boots scuffed on the shingles; Aziraphale followed the sound and reached out. Her hand closed on Crowley’s arm.

“Are you really?” she asked, still not quite believing.

“Yeah.” She could hear the click of Crowley’s throat as she swallowed.

For only the second time she could remember, Aziraphale lost her words. All she could do was lean forward and find Crowley’s mouth with her own, softly kissing the warm lips that had opened in surprise.

And nothing was the same after that.

*~*~*

Aziraphale hung up the blue dress and stood hesitantly in the black lace bra and panties. Now that her plans had gone awry, she wasn’t sure what to do. If she took them off now, they’d have to be hand-washed before she wore them again, and there was nowhere they could be hung to dry that Crowley wouldn’t see. But she didn’t know when Crowley would be home – she felt a pang of worry, but surely Crowley would have called if something had happened – and she didn’t want to muss or damage the delicate lingerie.

Eventually she decided to be optimistic that Crowley would be home soon. She pulled on her flannel pyjama shirt against the chill, but left it unbuttoned so it could be taken off quickly when she heard her wife open the door. She didn’t want to climb under the heavy duvet by herself, not when Crowley was so close to home; instead, she covered herself with a light blanket and lay down for just a quick nap. Just a little doze.

She was sound asleep when Crowley came in.

*~*~*

Their legal wedding took less than an hour, and most of that was standing in line at the Council office. But their real wedding had happened years before, in their favourite Soho pub filled to the brim and beyond with their friends.

Aunt Tracy had walked her down the aisle they’d made between the tables, and had clung to her so tightly the whole way that it was almost like peeling apart when they reached the end. And there was Crowley, standing with Beelzebub, smiling so bright when Aziraphale came to her side that she thought it might be her own turn for sunglasses. 

They wept as they exchanged their vows. When they parted from their first married kiss, she tenderly reached up to wipe tears from her wife’s face with satin-gloved hands.

Aziraphale only remembered bits and pieces of the party that followed. Drunken Dagon spent most of the evening hanging off the arm of a pregnant and irritably sober Michael. Hastur and Ligur spilled champagne everywhere as they showered them with confetti. Aziraphale opened an envelope from her cousin Gabriel, and when Crowley saw the cheque she whooped and leaped up to kiss his face, which he permitted with genial bemusement. 

Most of all she remembered Crowley. Sitting in Crowley’s lap, kissing on demand from the rowdy crowd. Dancing to “Somebody to Love.” Moaning with delight as Crowley fed her bites of their wedding cake, just to see her golden eyes go wide and dark. Trading a bottle of cold white wine back and forth, leaning forward to chase the taste from Crowley’s mouth.

It was the best party any of them had ever been to, and her memories of it were hazy with the biggest love Aziraphale thought anyone on the planet had ever felt.

*~*~*

She wasn’t sure what woke her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them, and spoke her wife’s name into the moonlight. “Crowley?”

“S’me, angel. I’m home.”

Dazed and drowsy, Aziraphale sat up in their tall bed, and as the blanket slid down she heard Crowley’s movements stop still.

“What,” said Crowley in a smoky voice, “are you wearing?”

Aziraphale had completely forgotten about her surprise. She quickly pulled the flannel top closed. “Oh, you know. Nothing. Nothing of note. Pyjamas.”

A second later the overhead light switched on, and Crowley blazed up in her red silk shirt. Her golden eyes met Aziraphale’s and she said hungrily, “Lemme see.” 

Now that Crowley was actually in front of her, she didn’t feel quite as daring. A hot blush flared from her face all the way down to her chest. “I don’t know. I feel a bit silly, now you’re here.”

“Really?” said Crowley in disbelief. “Because I do not feel the least bit silly. Please, angel.”

In the face of Crowley’s open lust, Aziraphale’s confidence began to return. She turned her eyes coyly to the ceiling. “Well…”

“Do I have to get down on my knees and beg? You know I will.” Crowley stepped closer.

She still felt more exposed than she’d like. “Wait!” She held a hand out to stave off Crowley’s advance. “Let me turn on the bedside lamp. Turn off the overhead.” 

Crowley scowled. 

“The bedside lamp is more flattering,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley threw up her hands, but off went the overhead as Aziraphale switched on the little ceramic lamp on the nightstand, flooding the room with gentle yellow light.

“Now? Pretty please?” begged Crowley, sugar sweet. 

“Fine. Since you asked so nicely.” Still blushing, she pulled the flannel shirt open to display the swell of black French lace over her breasts, the black silk panties that curved over her hips. Crowley’s jaw dropped, and Aziraphale thought of how she’d looked so long ago, standing under a streetlight in the rain.

“When’d you get that?” Crowley asked huskily. 

“On the computer, actually. A website. You’d have been very proud of me. The shop in the village didn’t have anything like this in my size.” Self-conscious with the memory, she pulled the shirt closed again.

“Oh no no no no!” Suddenly, there Crowley was on the bed. “Don’t do that.” She knelt in front of Aziraphale and clasped her hands, running her thumbs over Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” said Aziraphale, a little wistfully. 

“It was!” Crowley protested. “It is!”

“I meant to be awake when you got home, but you know. Can’t stay up past ten these days. You’d think I was seventy-five, not forty.” Aziraphale ducked her head and ruefully laughed.

“You do not look seventy-five right now. Just let me get that out of the way.” Crowley ran her hands over the soft flannel eagerly. “Let me see again, angel.”

Aziraphale contemplated her plan. Accepted the fact that there was no plan anymore. She dropped her hands with a bashful smile.

Crowley reverently drew open the shirt with a sharp exhale as the lace peeked back out. Her fingers traced wondering trails over the black floral designs before Crowley pushed the flannel shirt down off her shoulders, stripping it from her wrists and tossing it away.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale deeply, reaching up to cradle her face in both hands.

“Missed you, angel,” she murmured.

The red silk blouse was soft beneath Aziraphale’s fingers when she ran them down Crowley’s sides. She began to work it gently, carefully out of Crowley’s waistband, stroking the smooth skin beneath. When the shirt was free she started on its buttons, their thin edges sharp beneath her fingertips, and as the last one came undone she slipped the silk from Crowley’s shoulders. 

She was undone herself at the sight of Crowley in the white lace bralette. She’d known Crowley would be beautiful in it when she saw it in the little village shop, and it still looked just as good on Crowley as it first had in her imagination.

Aziraphale managed to catch the red shirt before it could flutter to the floor and tried to drape it over the nightstand. 

“Angel,” growled Crowley, vexed.

“That’s an expensive shirt,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, cross in equal measure with both Crowley and Crowley’s blouse. Her wife had a tendency to shed her clothes any which way, and Aziraphale didn’t want the red shirt wrinkled.

But Crowley had another agenda, and hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders pushed her back down into the thick duvet. At first Aziraphale could only make a muffled noise of surprise, but Crowley’s mouth was hot on hers, and Aziraphale buried her hands in Crowley’s bound hair and kissed her back, warm and wanton. 

Crowley sat back, breathing heavily. “There’s a problem.”

“A problem?” Aziraphale worried – was there something wrong with the lace? With the fit?

“Yeah,” Crowley said slyly, dragging her fingers lightly down Aziraphale’s chest. “The problem is I don’t want to take this off.” 

She pushed herself back and settled between Aziraphale’s legs, sliding her hands along the lace and silk. “But,” she purred, so close Aziraphale could feel the breath of her words, “I also really want what’s underneath it.” And before Aziraphale could respond, Crowley licked up the center of her panties, pressing the silk into her folds. 

“Crowley,” she moaned as she tangled her hands in Crowley’s hair, teasing out strands with her fingers and reveling in the warm tongue laving against her. She rolled her hips into Crowley’s mouth and shivered with the heat of it.

She’d missed this so much, missed Crowley so very much in the week she’d been gone, missed her care and adoration. “Oh, darling. Oh, missed you,” she panted.

And then the tension of the panties shifted. The fabric between her legs was pushed to the side, and oh there was Crowley, there was her wife. The wet lap of Crowley’s clever tongue was decadent. “Crowley, oh, love,” was all she could manage. 

But tonight she ached for more.

Aziraphale stopped Crowley with a gentle touch to her curly head. “Come up, Crowley. Please, love,” she begged, and Crowley unwillingly abandoned her ministrations, leaving trails of kisses up Aziraphale’s belly and breasts as she made her way back up the bed. 

“Hiya,” she said, grinning, stretching full length along Aziraphale’s body. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Aziraphale knew exactly what she wanted, but had never liked saying things out loud. Crowley had long ago perfected the art of interpreting her looks and blushes, however, particularly when given sufficient motivation, so Aziraphale bit her lip and batted her eyes.

Crowley coaxed, “Come on, angel,” cupping Aziraphale’s breast in a fine-boned hand.

She glanced over at Crowley’s nightstand, where they kept the box underneath. “Perhaps you could…”

“Oh!” said Crowley with a wicked smile. She slithered backward off the bed, peeling out of the rest of her clothes and sliding the tie out of her curls. Her hair was almost as long as Aziraphale’s now, and it tumbled down around her shoulders. Just how Aziraphale loved it.

Crowley bent to pull her cock and its harness from the box. She quickly fitted everything together and strapped it on. Her red hair and golden eyes glowed fierce in the soft light from the lamp; the black harness hugged her hips, and her cock jutted in front of her, and Aziraphale was struck all over again by her beauty.

“You don’t need anything to help this along, do you?” Crowley asked in a voice heavy with desire. “No, you’re so ready for it, angel. Nice and wet and ready.”

Aziraphale let out an involuntary moan as Crowley ran greedy eyes over her. “Look so good,” Crowley breathed. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one,” Aziraphale lifted a hand to touch Crowley’s face. Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s fingertips and reached to pull the black panties back aside, slipping into her with a smooth thrust.

Aziraphale was alight with sensation. Hipbones pressed into her inner thighs as Crowley fucked her. Crowley’s nipples were hard under her palms. Eyes unfocused, she saw the dark blur of Crowley leaning over her, felt a fumbling at her shoulder and a strap sliding down her upper arm, felt a breast tumble free from its cup, felt the light brush of Crowley’s hair and then oh the wet warmth of Crowley’s mouth, suckling, flexing her tongue against the nipple.

And then there were Crowley’s fingers, stroking her clit, fast and then slow. She always knew what to do. 

Crowley kissed Aziraphale long and hard. “Come on, angel,” she urged. “Wanna feel you come.”

And so Aziraphale did. 

All she could do was keen as her orgasm rippled through her while Crowley fucked her through it. The pulses slowly ebbed, leaving her soaked and satiated. She wanted Crowley with her in the glow.

“Take that off, and get up here.” 

“Bossy.” Crowley flexed for a last exquisite drag of her cock as she pulled out. She hurried to unstrap herself from the harness and tossed it into the scattered clothing as she crawled down the bed. 

“Come here, my love,” Aziraphale said, voice low and heated, pulling at Crowley’s thigh. Crowley flushed. She moved to her knees and carefully raised her leg over to straddle Aziraphale’s face. 

“Oh,” crooned Aziraphale. “Delicious.” She nosed into the nest of red curls between Crowley’s legs. When Aziraphale’s tongue slipped into her Crowley twitched with a delighted gasp.

Crowley _was_ delicious, wet and earthy. She was almost dripping, slicking the way for Aziraphale to slide her mouth up to Crowley’s clit, to lightly graze her with teeth, to hum vibrations that made Crowley groan and grind against her face. When she pulled back for air, Crowley was trembling and clinging to the headboard to stay upright. “Ah, fuck, angel,” she bit out. “Fuck, you’re so good at this. How did you get so bloody good at this?”

Years of practice was the answer, and Crowley knew it – all the years of the two of them learning how to tease the pleasure from each other’s bodies. Aziraphale could only smile.

She ran her hands up the backs of Crowley’s thighs and cupped Crowley’s arse in both hands. She pulled Crowley back down against her face, tipping Crowley’s hips to the angle she knew she loved best, and sucked at the bud of her clit. 

She tasted when Crowley began to come. Crowley bucked forward and cried out; her thighs tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed around Aziraphale’s face as she surged into Aziraphale’s firm grip. 

Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction with the result of her attentions as Crowley finally slowed. Wrung out, Crowley lifted herself back over Aziraphale’s head and collapsed on her side, gold eyes dark and sated. 

Aziraphale relaxed into the boneless bliss of her afterglow. _Their_ afterglow. She could feel her own face wet and slick. The black silk panties were crumpled and soaked, her freed breast was crushing the lace of the bra, and yet she couldn’t have been more content.

“You’re a miracle,” Crowley said hazily, reaching to run fingertips lightly over Aziraphale’s stomach.

She somehow found the energy to grin. “You are.” 

Those gorgeous red lips softly parted, like the first time they met. Aziraphale’s heart swelled with love.

What stupid luck. What a wonderful fucking life.


End file.
